


Going Into Society

by Lisafer



Series: The Dickens Arc [10]
Category: Protector of the Small - Tamora Pierce, Tortall - Tamora Pierce
Genre: Dickens Arc, F/M, Friendship, May-December Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-04
Updated: 2013-07-04
Packaged: 2017-12-17 16:14:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/869472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lisafer/pseuds/Lisafer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kel and Wyldon have been married two months, and make their first societal appearance... at a Naxen Tournament. (Part of the Dickens Arc.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Going Into Society

Naxen, Merric believed, was the perfect place to hold a tournament. The lake and forests provided a picturesque backdrop and the traditions of the ducal house gave it gravitas that other fiefs could not match. It was the duke’s birthday, to boot, though Merric didn’t know how old he was. The man had been the last King’s Champion, and trained the warriors that were acclaimed on modern battlefields. But he’d certainly been healthy enough to declare the Lioness the winner of the opening bout, two days prior.

“Where’s Kel?” he asked Neal, approaching the challenge boards, where Queenscove stood with Owen and Faleron.

“Whisked away by Alanna and Raoul for a proper dinner, after a week on the road,” he replied, practically lounging against a fence. “Never mind that I’ve been on the road for nearly two, and my former knight-mistress couldn’t be bothered to give me a crust of bread.”

Faleron snorted. “You’ve been traveling with the queen and her ladies. I don’t think you were aching for a decent meal in all that time.”

“Is your father-in-law here?” Merric asked Owen. He stumbled a bit over what to call Lord Wyldon of Cavall these days. As a friend of Kel, he’d expect to be on casual terms with her new husband. But to him, Lord Wyldon would always be “my lord” – the severe training master of his youth, and father of his close friend’s wife.

“No,” Owen answered. “I don’t believe he was planning to be here at all.”

Merric shook his head. “Having one knight in a family is bad enough. Can you imagine marrying one? If you’re both in active duty you might go a month without seeing each other.” 

“Or more,” Neal drawled.

Faleron’s mouth twisted into a wry smirk. “He won’t remain on the active duty rosters for long though, will he?”

A silence fell over the group and it bordered on the uncomfortable. No one had really been sure what to think of Kel marrying the Stump. He was so much older, to begin with. And Owen had married his daughter. But those who were closest to Kel – Neal and Owen – didn’t seem to have too many concerns. And if Neal could handle it, Merric believed that anything was possible.

They continued chatting idly as the sun began to set in the western sky, switching the subject to wives and children, since both Neal and Owen had young ones, and Esmond’s wife was expecting. 

“Maks can barely speak in full sentences,” Owen was telling them “but it’s already clear that his grandda is his hero.”

“Speaking of,” Neal murmured, nodding to a figure walking toward them. He and the others stood up a little straighter, the habit of their training years.

Merric was surprised to see no difference in Lord Wyldon, for all that Faleron had said he was changed. He hadn’t been able to attend the wedding earlier that summer, and he didn’t know what he’d been expecting – maybe a spring in his step, or a less stern expression? Something should have given away that he was newly wed, even if the experience wasn’t a new one for him.

“Good evening, milord,” Owen chirped.

That settled it for Merric; if Owen referred to him that way, it was best for all of them to.

“Have you seen Keladry?” The words were clipped and impersonal as ever, but Merric liked that Lord Wyldon asked about Kel before even saying hello.

“Last seen, she was chatting with the Lioness,” Neal said, his voice a little too sing-songy for complete innocence. Lord Wyldon grimaced, and it took quite a bit to bite back snickers and refrain from smirking. Everyone – especially Merric and his friends – knew how much the older knight disliked Sir Alanna.

“I wouldn’t want to disturb their quality time together,” he said, and stepped toward the lists to see who had volunteered their names for the next day’s jousting matches. He picked up the pencil and jotted his name down. “This will work just as well to let her know I’m here.”

Merric gaped. “My lord, are you honestly thinking of throwing your wife from the saddle?”

Wyldon gave him a half-smile that frightened them all more than likely intended. “Why not?” he asked. “No one else seems to be able to, these days.” He walked briskly toward the campsite, leaving the other men to gape after him.

“Did Lord Wyldon just make a joke?” Neal asked weakly.

Faleron shook his head slowly. “He’s a different man, I tell you.”

~~~~~

Cleon left his tent at dusk, with the intent of going to the lists to see if anyone had set themselves against his sword. There hadn’t been many tournaments since the end of the war; knights were tired of fighting, and didn’t feel the need to prove their strengths against one another. But Cleon lived in a region with fewer Immortals and far fewer Scanrans than his friends had experienced. It was nice to test himself against other men and see if he still measured up. Seeing his friends and comrades who had been scattered to the four winds since the end of the war made it even nicer.

“Cleon?” A surprised voice shook him out of his reverie, and he came to a halt. Kel stood in front of him, her hazel eyes exactly as he remembered them – somewhere between sleepy and seductive. He had crossed her path only a number of times since his wedding years before, but she always seemed happy to see him. 

He gave her a bear hug; despite everything that had passed between them and the fact that they were both married now, it felt like the natural thing to do. “Gods, you look – fit,” he said with a sly smile as he pulled away from her, keeping both hands on her shoulders. “How is the life of our local hero knight?”

She snorted, shrugging him off and motioning for him to walk with her. “The usual,” she answered. “Border skirmishes and occasional work with the Riders or the Own. I heard that you helped deal with a Taurus several months back.”

“And you married the Stump around the same time.” He shook his head, trying to make sense of the madness. Kel’s expression, of course, was as smooth as ever. “I was a little shocked at the idea of that particular romance,” he admitted.

“No more than I was, I assure you.” She smiled.

“When should we expect the first wave of mounted, armored babies with lances?”

Kel laughed. “I’m a knight who’s considering taking on a squire – there’s no time for raising children. I was lucky enough to marry into a complete family.”

“Complete with Owen as your son-in-law?”

“And his son is my husband’s grandson, don’t forget,” Kel added, a wry twist to her smile. She was clearly aware that her friends weren’t at ease with the situation. “But tell me about you. Do you have little ones?”

Cleon nodded. “Two so far – a girl and a boy. Melly – Ermelian – wants a whole brood, though, so I’m sure this is just the start. Mae wants to be a Rider and Anson has the Gift, like his mama. But who knows what they’ll want out of life in ten years’ time?” 

“Or fifteen, or twenty,” Kel added. “Sixteen years ago I was put on probation and never thought I’d end up here.”

“And ten years ago we walked together through a camp like this and never would have imagined these lives for us.” Cleon shook his head, unable to resist adding, “especially considering that you married the fellow who put you on probation in the first place.”

“Very true,” she said. It looked as though she wanted to say more, but the smooth, polite expression fell over her face again. He took it as a sign that this wasn’t something she cared to speak of in greater detail. Perhaps there were a few topics that were best shared in private, after more than five minutes together.

They came upon the lists, but it was too dark to read the names. “Did you sign up?” Cleon asked, pulling the lantern from its nearby hook to illuminate the sheet. “Oh Gods, we’ve come back to this.”

Kel peered at her name, and her eyes lit up at the sight of her husband’s next to it. “I didn’t think he’d be able to make it,” she said with delight. 

Cleon couldn’t help but smile at her display of emotion. “Shall I find you a coffin maker, or does he let you win these days?”

Kel raised her eyebrows. “He’s still the same man, you know. I don’t think he’s capable of letting someone win if he’s better skilled. We haven’t tilted together in months, but I’m much better at holding my own since you last saw us clash lances.”

He grinned. “I’ll pray for your win tomorrow, oh jewel of a Lady Knight, and I’ll wear your colors on the morning.”

She had always been quick to smile at his silliness, and didn’t disappoint him this time. He liked that they could be so comfortable with one another again. 

“How will I know you’re not rooting for Wyldon?” she asked. “We both wear Cavall black and white these days.”

~~~~~  
The ground wasn’t muddy and the sky was cloudy – both were a relief to Kel the following morning. She didn’t have to worry about the sun glinting off of metal or spending her entire afternoon cleaning clumps of mud out of Peachblossom’s coat.

She waited calmly, enjoying the last blissful moment of quiet before the thunder and smash of a good joust. On the other side of the field, she could see that Wyldon was doing the same. 

They hadn’t tilted publically against one another since she was a squire, but they’d had their share of matches within the last five years. She’d never knocked him from the saddle, but she hadn’t flown from hers in some time, either. While a win was unlikely, it wasn’t completely impossible, either.

The herald announced Wyldon’s name and the stands erupted in cheers. This was their ideal crowd; unlike the Progress, where many nobles came simply because it was expected, a tournament drew mainly those who were invested in the martial arts. The stands were filled with people who wanted to see this particular match-up. 

The cheers for Kel were equally as raucous. A few knights in the front – and she had a good idea who – had taken to chanting “Mindelan! Mindelan!” It made her smile, for the brief moment she had before she needed to focus entirely on the man down the lane. 

She readied herself, pulling the visor of her helmet down. Lifting her lance in a salute to her husband, she and Peachblossom took their place. The trumpet blast set them in motion, and Kel told her ornery mount to charge. There was no need to hold back against Wyldon; doing so would practically guarantee a loss. She narrowed her focus solely to the figures barreling toward her. She raised herself and set her lance; the impact was ferocious when Wyldon’s lance hit her, and her own arm immediately ached from her thrust against him. His lance shattered.

“I don’t think I was ready for that,” she murmured to the monitor as he took her lance. She shook out both of her arms before re-setting her shield and taking a fresh weapon.

The second pass was more of the same. This time Kel put more force behind her strike, and it was her lance that broke into pieces.

“Impressive,” the monitor said, handing her a new one. 

“More impressive if I survive the last pass,” she replied, and exhaled. Wyldon’s passes, unlike anyone else’s in the world except perhaps Raoul’s, made her positively dizzy. She hoped that he felt half so bad after tilting with her.

They set off again one final time, thundering toward one another. She focused on precision this time; she would never best him in strength alone, but if she were as precise as him and took advantage of Peachblossom’s brute strength and speed, she had a chance. Both lances shattered upon impact, and Kel was satisfied with her showing, despite the ringing in her ears and her fear that she would slide out of the saddle. When she reached the end of her lane, the monitor took her shield and the remnants of her lance.

“Did they give the win to my lord?” she asked, pulling her helmet off.

He squinted into the stands where the judges would hold up their banners to reflect which knight was assigned the win. “It’s hard to tell, Lady Knight,” he said once the first banner was displayed. “I can’t make out the border from here.” 

“I don’t think it’s a distaff,” she said, peering up at the judges. It wasn’t a surprise, of course, to lose a joust to her husband, but she was disappointed just the same when the second banner didn’t have the distaff. When the third was displayed, however, it wasn’t the distaff border that showed her she’d been chosen the victor by the last judge. It was the hound of Cavall, who had not a sword in its paws, but a glaive. 

She was in too much shock to register that Wyldon was being named the victor but the cheering crowd brought her back to the moment. Some had taken to chanting the Cavall name, and Kel was amused to see that a few of them were the same who’d chanted her maiden name before. Maybe some of the cheers were for her.

“Nicely done, Keladry.” Wyldon’s voice was cool, but his expression was soft as he rode up on his warhorse, his helm tucked beneath one arm. 

She grinned at him, and when she began to sway in the saddle he reached out to steady her. “You gave me my own coat of arms.”

“Indeed,” he said. “I saw that one of the three judges gave you the win.” There was a good deal of pride in his voice.

“I had the best teachers,” she replied, and couldn’t resist adding: “Raoul will be proud of me.”

“Are you always so tilt-silly or is it just with me?” Wyldon dismounted and helped Kel slide off of Peachblossom without disgracing herself.

“Let them take care of you, Peachblossom,” she told her ornery destrier. 

Wyldon was handing his own reigns to the monitors, as well. “I need to make sure the Lady Knight lies down,” he told them.

Kel grinned at him as he led her off the field. 

“Your mask slips when you’re tilt-silly,” he observed. She wondered if it was a warning.

“Did my strike affect you nearly as bad?” she asked. “My arm is numb.”

“As is mine.”

“Thank Mithros,” she murmured. “I don’t mind always losing to you, so long as you get pounded, too.”

~~~~~  
“With that kind of precision,” Wyldon told his young wife as he helped remove her padding, “you could conceivably best Goldenlake someday soon.”

Keladry laughed dismissively. “I think maybe my passes did affect you, if you’re going to say such crazed things.”

A flicker of annoyance got the better of him, and he frowned. He didn’t like it when his criticism or praise was dismissed so easily – not when it was a discussion of tilting, at least. “I think you have become more precise than Raoul,” he explained as patiently as he could. “Goldenlake relies on his size and his strength, when you have size, strength, precision and speed. You have a chance against him, so long as you have your warhorse.”

Kel smiled, unlacing the white cotton shirt that was matted to her chest with sweat. “I’ll consider it,” she told him. “But only because you complimented Peachblossom, too. What made you decide to modify the Cavall heraldry for me?”

“I still owed you a bride-gift,” he said, matter-of-factly. “And I knew that it would be the best way to clear things up, were we to tilt against one another. I had it arranged once left on your assignment, so it could be a surprise.”

“Ah, so that’s why you came to Naxen, after all. I thought your work would keep you away.” She turned toward the washbasin in their pavilion – Naxen tournaments didn’t believe in the simplicity of an ordinary tent to house knights – but Wyldon took her arm and pulled her back toward him. 

“We made a good showing for ourselves today,” he murmured before kissing her. He loved the way she opened up to him. Every kiss, from the very first they had shared, seemed to reflect how their relationship had begun. She always seemed slightly reserved at first, then after a moment she would wrap her arms around him and deepen the kiss. When she began to tug at his shirt, however, voices outside brought them to a halt.

“Have you ever seen Jump act like this?” Neal asked, his voice confused. “Is something wrong?”

Jump’s whine was heard inside the canvas flap. 

“I think…” Owen began, uncertainly. “I believe he doesn’t want us going in.”

“Mithros, do you think they’re….?” Neal’s voice trailed off, and Wyldon could imagine the horrified expression on his face.

Kel, still in Wyldon’s arms, began to giggle. “Go tell them I’m washing up,” she said before breaking out of his hold and moving toward the washbasin. She dipped a cloth in the warm water and began to clean off her face and neck. 

Wyldon watched her for a moment, mentally cursing his idiot son-in-law and his friend for interrupting what could have been a perfectly pleasant way to spend the afternoon. “Should I tell them that you need time to yourself, to lie down?”

“No, I’ll join them in a minute,” she answered. “You’re welcome to come with us – Cleon of Kennan is in a match this afternoon, and we want to watch him.”

Wyldon sighed, but moved toward the tent flap where the men outside where still yammering awkwardly. They would be back in Cavall soon enough, he told himself. They would have all the time in the world to spend alone together.


End file.
